Perfect Finale?
by ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: There was one person who did not take part in the celebrations for the Witch's demise. MovieMusical combo. Please R&R!


**A/N: the melting scene as it appeared in the movie plays an important part in my little oneshot, so you'd better know it to understand some of what I'm gonna tell you down there. As for timeline, it takes place after the Wizard granted the gang their wishes, and he's about to leave Oz with Dorothy in his balloon. I did my best to combine this moment of the movie with the events of the musical in the most reliable way; if there are still some inconsistencies, don't hold them against me. **

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of either _The Wizard of Oz_, or _Wicked_.

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Perfect Finale? **

"GOOD NEWS! SHE'S DEAD!"

He cringed at the sound of the announcements. Bellow him, at the City's square, the noise was increasing by the second, as more and more citizens went out to join their friends and relatives in celebration. From every rooftop of the buildings around, confetti and green ribbons were thrown into the afternoon wind. It's been going on for hours now, the dancing and singing. People didn't seem to have enough of it; it was as if they'd never have enough of it.

"The Witch of the West is dead! The Wickedest witch there ever was; the enemy of all of us here in Oz is DEAD! GOOD NEWS!"

He looked away. He couldn't watch it; it was unbearable.

He couldn't believe Glinda was acting on it, too. Of course, her broken-heartedness was noticeable behind her glowing, contented smile, which made him all the more confused; why didn't she stop it, when she obviously had the power to? People would have listened to her if only she tried-

He sighed. There was no point. All the if only's were not doing him any good.

It was a spectacular sight from up there, on the balcony where he was standing. It had just dawned on him that the last time he was up there was that day when his engagement to Glinda had been announced. It felt as if it happened ages ago. He thought how ironic it was. That day was supposed to mark Glinda's victory. She was recently decreed as Glinda the Good, and their engagement were supposed to be the final step towards happiness.

And then, within moments, everything changed.

It's been the same that day too, he recounted; the music, the dancing, the ribbons in the air. The citizens of the Emerald City favored any sort of celebration. Especially ones which meant to confirm _her_ death. It was everyone's perfect finale; everyone's, but his own.

His gaze wandered involuntarily westward, to the Vinkus, but he couldn't make out the castle he knew was there. He hoped that she was safe, that she wouldn't have to wait there long. He knew that the most dangerous part of his plan was still ahead of them, when the clock would strike midnight, but he didn't care; as long as he could get her out of there, as long as she'd be safe, as long as they'd be together always, as he predicted only days before.

Nonetheless, the first part of the plan, which was also very risky, went fairly well. He was still amazed by way she managed to pull it off, to disappear so beautifully and so completely into a veil of green smoke. It looked so believable that he found himself fearing for a moment that water did have the power to melt her. Sure, he was scared to death when she aimed that burning broom at his straw-made body, but that was a risk he was willing to take. He knew she'd be careful, that she wouldn't hurt him. He could see her own anxiety, well-masked by a threatening glare, when she touched him with the tip of her broom. Heart pounding, he did the slightest nod with his head, to assure her it was okay.

It was the first time they saw one another again after he was seized by the Gale Force and taken to the field, where he regained consciousness several hours later, to find out that he was made of straw. It didn't take much to realize that she had something to do with it. They beat him so hard before getting him on that pole; he would probably have died from blood loss if she wouldn't have done that spell on time.

He managed to send her a note to warn her, telling her as much as he could about his meeting with Dorothy, about their journey back to the Emerald City, about the Wizard's request to destroy her. He elaborated on his plan. He remembered that ridiculous belief regarding the ability of water to melt her, and suggested they'd act on it in order to stage her death. They'd give people what they wanted to see. Then, with the threat of her destruction removed, they'd leave Oz at midnight.

That was the only mean of communication they managed to keep. They didn't even speak to one another more than necessary when they eventually entered Kiamo Ko. He knew that she meant to follow his plan when he saw a bucket of water on a nearby shelf, to which she managed to lead Dorothy and the rest of them later on.

He shuddered, in spite of himself. Luckily, no serious damage was done. And then she was gone, disappeared without a trace, leaving behind her an old witch's hat and a burnt broom. Her scream was alive and burning in his memory, echoing mercilessly in his ears, as she vanished into nothingness in what was probably one of her most successful spells.

He looked into the distance once more. He wished he had a way to know that she was alright. He knew she probably was; he just wished he could see for himself. The last several days had been dreadful for her, from her sister's death to the necessity of defending herself from the citizens' rage. He could only imagine what she was going through.

"Mr. Scarecrow?"

He turned, startled, at the sound of his name being called. Then a sigh of relief escaped him when he realized there was no danger in the person who had just joined him.

She took his expression as an invitation, perhaps, for she drew closer to join him. She leaned against the railing and looked down at the celebrations. "Why are you not down there with everyone else?"

There was so much childish innocence in her eyes, in her expression. How could he ever tell her the truth? "I just… don't feel like celebrating, that's all," he replied quietly, hoping his answer would satisfy her and send her away.

"I thought you would be happy, now that the Wizard has granted all your wishes and the Witch is dead."

He cringed at her last words. She didn't seem to notice. His gaze wandered, suddenly settling on a sparkle coming from the floor. Then he realized it came from her shoes. Nessa's shoes. That was what started the damn business on the first place.

Her gaze followed his, and she sighed wearily. "Beautiful, aren't they? Although not very comfortable," she admitted. He gave a slight nod, distracted, as his eyes wandered towards the distance again. "What is it that bothers you, Mr. Scarecrow?" she asked, sounding as if she was truly anxious to his well-being.

He could tell her, couldn't he? She was a good girl, he could tell. He thought he knew her by now, after the long time they spent together, down the yellow brick road. She saved him; if it wasn't for her, he was still up there, on that pole. On the other hand, she was trying to kill Elphaba simply because she was told it would bring her back home, without even question this strange request. Could he really trust her?

"There is something I haven't told you about me when we first met, Dorothy," he said eventually, deciding against telling her the entire truth.

"Oh?"

"I used to be human… before."

"Before… before turning into a scarecrow, you mean," she said slowly.

"Yes, exactly."

"Like Tin Man."

"That's right."

"Did the Witch do it to you too? Like she did it to him?"

"No, no, she…" his voice trailed off when he realized his harsh reaction might be suspicious and dangerous. "No, she didn't," he said slower.

She seemed to have bought it. "Is this why you're so sad? Because you want to be human again? You could have asked the Wizard, I'm sure he could have found ways to help-"

"It's not in the Wizard's ability to do everything, Dorothy," he said seriously, sadly.

She nodded. Elphaba seriously underestimated her; she was very bright for her fairly young age. "Yes, I guess you are right."

"I'm sad because… I loved this girl," he admitted. Her expression transformed at once. She looked at him sympathetically, as if waiting for him to continue. "I love her still."

She hesitated, then asked, "She didn't turn you down because you were a scarecrow, did she?"

He smiled sadly. "No, that's not the problem."

"What is it then?"

"She's dead," he said, his voice not higher than a whisper, his eyes set towards the Vinkus.

He could hear her sharp intake of breath. She looked as if she wasn't expecting to hear that. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Yes. I'm sorry too."

There was a moment of silence. Even the sounds of celebration seemed to cease for a while. Then she slowly asked, "Was she beautiful? The girl you loved?"

He nodded. "Very beautiful. But it was a sort of beauty that only a few people managed to recognize, and what's more, appreciate." He knew he was being vague. Indeed, she didn't seem to follow. "Sometimes, there are other things that cast beauty aside. Other things that seem to matter, when they don't, not really. She was beautiful, for me. And for those who truly knew her."

She nodded as if she realized the problem. "Your parents didn't think highly of her?"

He smirked. If his parents even knew that he had broken an engagement with an Upland girl in order to run away with a Munchkin-born, no matter how respected her family was… He guessed he didn't have to worry about it now, being considered dead. "No, that's not it. She was just, umm… not very socially accepted."

She shook her head, looking grave. "That sounds very sad."

"People can be really empty-headed these days. They believe any piece of gossip that is given to them." He knelt in front of her, so that he'd be on the same eye-level with her. "I want you to promise me something before you leave," he said.

"Of course. What is it?"

"When you return home, I want you to remember that a story always has two sides. Never believe a story before you hear that other side, you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I think I do, but I don't understand why-"

"It's the same with people, you see. If someone is different, there's always another side to it. There's always the other story. If someone is different, that does not make him wicked."

His obvious choice of words seemed to do it. Her eyes grew big with sudden realization. "You mean to tell me that the girl you loved was-"

"I don't mean to tell you anything I'm not supposed to," he said quietly, seriously. The last thing he wanted was for her to carry the guilt of Elphaba's death on her young conscience. "I just want you lead an honest life back home. You have to promise never to judge someone before personally meeting this person, before knowing the whole story."

It still seemed to bother her, for the amazed expression didn't leave her face. She said nothing about it though, just slowly nodded. "Alright. I promise I'll do as you say."

"Then I wish you a safe journey home," he gave her his best scarecrow smile. He wanted to say more, but a rustling sound made him look up. Glinda went out to the balcony, and looked relieved to find Dorothy up there.

"There you are, dearest! I was looking all over for you! The Wizard is ready to go now, you'd better hurry!" she said cheerfully. It was still there, though, that hidden spark of mourning. Then she noticed him. "What you two are whispering about?"

"We were just saying our goodbyes," he replied, standing up. He hoped Dorothy would be wise enough to keep the details of their conversation to herself.

She seemed to realize his intentions as she looked up at him. "Will you come to watch us go?"

"Of course. I'll be there in a moment."

"Go along, dear," Glinda said softly, laying her hand on Dorothy's back as if to encourage her forward.

He watched her go, then leaned against the railing again and looked down. The sun began its slow descent. Soon it would be midnight, and he'd see his love again.

"You don't seem too happy."

He looked up, startled, at the sound of her voice. He didn't realize Glinda was still there. He thought she followed Dorothy's lead. "Neither do you," he noted.

She let out a weary sigh. "It's been hectic several days."

"You've been through a lot," he heard himself say. For a moment, he forgot she wasn't supposed to know who he was.

In spite of his silent hope that she wouldn't notice, she looked up at him suspiciously. "How would you know that?"

"I can imagine. You had to remain on-guard during our journey, to protect Dorothy from the Wicked Witch of the West," he said casually, stealing a glance at her.

She stiffened, and looked away. Then after a moment she seemed to change her mind as she turned to face him again and said, very coldly, "She had a name."

For a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond. Most people just referred to her as a Wicked Witch, a title which had been attached to her by Madam Morrible long ago. Very few knew she had an actual name. If he'd show any inclination of his knowing it now, would she suspect anything? He couldn't tell her the truth. He wouldn't risk Elphaba's safety, not when their chance to escape was so close. He pulled off his most indifferent expression (as much as he could do so, with his scarecrow face) and said carefully, "I didn't think it mattered much, as she is now dead and gone."

He watched her closely. Her expression remained blank. "I believe in paying respect for the dead," she said, very quietly, not even looking at him.

"So do I," he replied. "This is why I'm up here." This is when he realized she was watching him closely. "What?" He hoped he didn't say anything to raise her suspicion.

"Nothing. You just remind me of someone I used to know, that's all," she said, looking down at the celebrating crowd. She sighed sorrowfully. "Isn't this horrible? To celebrate the death of a person that way?"

He nodded. She looked so sad; more than anything he wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, letting her know that her best friend was alive, and as safe as she could be, under the circumstances. "Yes, it is."

"No-one deserves such ending, no matter how wicked people think this person is," her voice was shivering. He thought he noticed tears at the corners of her eyes. Or maybe it was an illusion of the sunset. "And Oz is my witness, she wasn't." At that, she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She looked at him wide-eyed. "I wasn't supposed to say that," she whispered, horror clearly reflected against the blue of her eyes.

For a moment, he was taken-aback by that. She hid the fact of her acquaintance with Elphaba to protect her own reputation? Would she go so low? "That's alright. No-one is here to hear you. No damage was done." He hoped it didn't come out as sarcastic as he felt it did. He knew that any hint of it might give him away.

As if she did detect this hidden note of sarcasm, she shook her head fiercely. "No, I wasn't referring to myself. That is, I did, but I didn't. I mean…" her voice trailed off. She let out a desperate sigh, and started over. "I made a promise. She made me promise I wouldn't try to clear her name."

Her statement took him off-guard as the new information quickly sank in. That definitely explained a lot; why she didn't stop the celebrations, why she didn't speak on her friend's behalf when she had her chance. But instead of putting everything together, it actually raised new questions. Why would Elphaba ask such a thing?

"I'm intending to keep my last promise to my friend," she said, looking determined. Then she added in a soft whisper, "May she rest in peace."

"So she was your friend," he half asked, half said, very slowly, not to scare her off.

She nodded. "She was my only friend," she replied, then looked at him pleadingly. "You won't tell, will you?"

He shook his head. Once he was reassured of the unselfishness of her motives, he knew he must respect her wishes. "Your secret is safe with me."

A hint of a smile appeared on her mournful face. "Thank you," she said. "Will you join me while I'm sending off his Ozness and young Miss Gale?"

"I'll be honored to join you, Miss Glinda," he said honestly, offering her his arm. She seemed touched by this small gesture, and flashed a bright smile at him as she put her arm in his.

He stole one single glace at the distance before they left the balcony, arm in arm. Just wait a little longer, my love, he thought. When night fell, it would be safe for them to leave Oz for good. And then, maybe, they'd get to have their own perfect finale.


End file.
